Turns out, cleaning gray muck is quite difficult.

Especially if you have practically nothing to clean it with.

Due to lack of proper cleaning utensils, the only things that could be gotten really was his footgear. After a good shake and some gauntlet-armored points to get into the nook and crannies later though, it looked much better than before. It also seemed to be drying and flaking off by the moment. It appeared that, with time, it would be as wiping snow off a window, though getting it out of the corners would be just as hard.

Also, though it should be obvious, his upper body was molten lava. It was VERY hard to pull up a heavily armed warrior with just your upper body strength.

It was much warmer now, the principle of heat rising in practice, though still quite chilly. He knew to appreciate the things he had, however, and decided on what to do with his food and water situation.

Most people in his country changed from bows to guns when they were released, and enjoyed hunting with them dearly. He was of the unpopular opinion that the skill of using a bow was more enjoyable. As such, when he went to battle, he used bows instead of firearms.

Slowly, he laid his gear in front of him, keeping only his armor, accessories, and clothes on.

He had his bow, a bit on the fancy side but also practical, and his soaked quiver still filled with 35 wet fletchings. They were custom made of metal as well, so they would survive. His set of swords, his katana and wakizashi, were tempered in the same painstaking way as the Onimaru Kunitsuna, though his were created by himself, and the weird combination of naginata and a yari of his long lost friend Sumairu, which he picked off his dead body.

To be honest, he always seemed infatuated with learning. Whether it be weapon maintenance to trigonometry, he devoted himself to the study of it. Improving himself was, perhaps, his favorite hobby. He always thought that not asking questions to maintain a fake pride is the way of the fool. They must make something to have pride in to be prideful in the first place.

The last items were a bag, moistened and gray, that held an array of jars, and a small iron lockbox. He had specifically paid for the extremely expensive tough glass, and it had not disappointed him it seems.

A vial of gunpowder, some smelling salts, damp bandages, a spice mix, tea leaves, a compass, a thread and needle, and a few other bobbles. The essentials, with a few extras.

He shook the gunpowder around, as unsafe as that may seem. It, thankfully, seemed completely dry. In fact, though the container got wet, the contents were preserved for every single material. A good purchase indeed.

Nodding his head, he took another look at his wakizashi, or rather, the embroidered cap at the end of the sheath. It was much too big for a blade of about 30 cm, but there was a reason for that.

He took the idea after one of the guns he saw his second in command use. In the gun stock was a small amount of dried rations, fresh water, gunpowder, a small knife, and ammo. A compact survival kit. Of course, since he didn’t use guns, he took it upon himself to get something similar, in this case the extended sheath.

Pulling out a few pins, he opened up the gold end, revealing a day and a half of dried meat, a small pouch of water, a hunting knife, and a tiny leather pouch filled with items such as kindling.

He resisted the urge to start a fire, he would have to wait for a more dire situation. Though it was cold, he could hold on for now. The rations, if rationed, could be doubled. Three days of food, and four days of water, including today. If he meditated every once in a while, he could make it five. He wasn’t expecting to wake up in a cave of all places, so he didn’t bring a clock, which meant he would have to time the intervals himself.

With great reluctance, he gathered only a meager portion of what was presented to him and ate it slowly. With a roughly estimated sip, he put it back, popped on the lid, fastened the pins again and leaned against the surprisingly smooth wall.

His plated legs overlapped into a sitting position as he gave a large inhale to his lungs. His four fingers were pressed together, and then pressed against the tips of the other hand. His thumb hovered an inch or so above, tranquility returning to a troubled mind after a deep exhale.

He recollected, he reviewed himself.

Something was off, and more than just the situation.

In combat, his center of mass was off, and his upper body strength was diminished slightly. His every movement felt different even. It felt like it was him, but also not him. Wearing another’s skin

Not only that, but he didn’t remember having an iron lockbox.

It was very confusing.

An inhale.

…

An exhale.

Calm.

He searched his mind deeper. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t remember having a friend with such a weird spear. In fact, he kept a strict border, and the closest people were only frequent acquaintances, other than family.

Something was wrong. And yet, it was… okay? It truly felt like they were his.

His body, on closer examination, felt younger, more spry. He was an older man in his fourties, and this did not add up. His childhood was chock full of intense training and unending battle, and yet, it also felt lighthearted? Almost like they were two different memory sets.

He bit his lip, a smooth and silky texture rather than a grizzly beard felt. His breath quickened, he didn’t know what was going on, his world was crumbling around him, who was he anymore? Was this really him?

Inhale.

…

Exhale.

Peace.

It didn’t matter, now that he thought about it. He was who he was now, and should that stop him his will was merely too weak. He continued to delve into his mind’s secrets, in tandem with who or what he was for now.

It was as if two memories were overlapped. A calm feeling, alien yet familiar came to him. It was as if he was another person as well. No, he definitely was. He was two people, and the other asked for... help? Hmmm. Nothing really quite makes sense right now.

The other, or rather, himself, seemed to be a bit bratty, with a bit of sass. They cared for those close to them, and never quite had a leash on their emotions. He snorted at this, yet at the same time, he felt a small pang in his heart, they had what was missing. It was a bit hard to determine what was going on, however He didn’t know if they became part of him or if he became part of them, much less how he was taking this so easily. At least it explained his much more expressive behavior, such as the snort he earlier provided.

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For now, until he understood more, he would keep himself and them separate as he tried to delve a bit more into the other person's memories.

The small pang of something missing returned when he saw the- her. When he saw her so close to her family, her friends, and her teacher. The cute and meaningful relationships they had. She had a life, she had meaning.

They grew up in about the same environment as each other, maybe a bit less advanced. It seemed where she was, though, that being a warrior as well as a female was more acceptable. He didn’t mind, he wasn’t too particular on that matter.

Her training, though hard at times, was much more lighthearted and warm at others. He could feel everything she felt. He could feel her, no, his smile as he went through the training, talked with relatives over dinner, excitedly learning something new.

And she suffered for it.

Without the same dedication he had, though she was one of the best, she wasn’t even on the same playing field as him. A huge raid, consisting of multiple clans attacked, burned, and pillaged with a terrible rage. Her armor and blade was spattered with blood.

When coming to her family’s aid, all that remained were their dissected corpses on the floor, the food still steaming as they waited for her to return home, so they could eat together as a family.

As she cried and fought, more and more of the people she cared about perished, either found that way or died next to her. Even as her steel flickered through the foe, she was dying inside herself. Her teacher, her lord, everyone she knew. Gone, as simple as that.

Entering the blood stained training hall, she feared the worst. Sliding door after door, she came upon a small group of steps and a larger group of bodies leading to a position at the top, surrounded by two braziers on each side. A warrior in blue armor was impaled deep into the liver, a mortal wound.

Sumairu, her role model, her best friend.

His smile was brighter than the flame he was flanked by, happiness at seeing his friend before his final moments.

“Sumairu!”

She ran to his side and knelt.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but it took him a bit to clumsily clear the fluid from his throat. Maintaining the smiling visage, he raised his hand towards her. Whether it was motion with meaning or quiet or simply a motion was unknown.

"Please. wait."

"Don't worry, you can live! I've got medicinal supplies ri-"

“Raira. Can I tell you a secret?” he ignored her desperate flailing.

“We can save you! Hold on, I-” He clasped his hand down into her own, tightening his grip.

For the first time since entering the room, she looked directly at his face. At the blinding bright that threatened to make her go blind. Any sound held in her throat, any stir in her bone. She could only look on, helpless.

He gave a slaught pause, possibly pondering on what to say before coming to a conclusion. Even though his face was drained, his lips moved with grace. “We’re supposed to be able to control our emotions, and to us, death is honorable, correct?” She nodded as he gave a weak chuckle. “I’ve been doing this my whole life, my training, my effort, everything.”

“I was so happy. I’m so lucky.”

His smile wobbled yet stayed even after tears leaked from his eyes.

“But to be honest, I’m so scared.” His fingers braced against hers as she stilled, as if frozen in time.

"I'm so sad. I'm so hurt. I'm so cold, and it burns, and it hurts, and it burns and I can't breathe and it hurts."

“I don’t wanna go, I want to live.” It became more intense as they shed their tears together, “I want to have a life, I want to have kids, I want to be a dad. I-I, it just hurts so bad. I don’t know what to do.”

A shiver roamed.

“It’s just so… cold. I can’t help but panic. It’s so cold, Raira.” He slid the gauntlet of his hand, and with his chilled skin, touched hers. “Please, I don’t want to die alone. Just... stay like this a little longer, I beg of you.”

She didn't move. Couldn't move. what else was she supposed to do?

She didn't even notice that she had already taken hers off, hands clasped against his.

She nodded as a few more seconds of silence passed. She let him cry his heart out as he accepted what was going to happen, his fate. The unturnable notion.

Finally, he looked back at her. His facade had returned.

“Please, don’t die.”

He gave his trademark stupid grin to her, “Be happy, see?" His teeth pressed against his lip. "Of all people, you shouldn’t be sad. I’m the one dying here.” He lifted his blood drained hand to her face, and fumbled about with his thumb and finger to give her a smile. “See?”

As his hand fell, she smiled by herself. It was a fake, horrible, toothy grinned smile that even got the boy next to her laughing.

“You look like an idiot.”

“Well, you are one.”

He paused, then nodded with a solemn, sagely expression. His fingers eventually stopped trembling, and his pulse was laid to rest. With a final sigh, his life passed.

...

She left her home that day, oddly shaped spear in hand as she looked back. Flame licked every corner of the village as her heart ached in response. She was too afraid. Too afraid to fight anymore. She had only dealt with small fry, she would be no match for a true samurai. One that would not run away from battle, unlike her.

She bit her lip, drawing blood.

Unlike me.

She ran after that, ran with all her might. She knocked over torches and lights, catching thatchings on fire, sending doom to both the attackers and her fellow clansmen. She doomed every single one of them by sending the flame everywhere. Grass, roofs, even the dirt, all caught by the intensity of the flame. She sacrificed them all so she could live. So that she could continue her life.

“But what am I supposed to do?”

She looked at her hands. Hands stained with blood of the people she killed. Today was the day she first drew blood, and it had just been so unsettlingly easy. She felt like she was a monster, she felt alone.

She felt weak.

And so, she cried. Her aching soul let out a song of grief, sorrow, pain, and guilt. Hopelessness, loss, nausea, it crumpled her to the ground. What was she supposed to do? They were already going to die, she just took the enemy with them. What is she supposed to do now? All the emotions only confused her, furthering her suffering.

It was my fault. If I was stronger, if I tried harder, none of this would have happened.

If I was stronger.

Her tears stopped. Sumairu would probably tell her to stop, that she was wrong, but why else would she live. Why else should she?

She needed to get stronger.

And so, she searched.

Yet, such a goal could only last so long.

She was only human. She wasn’t even gifted in the sword, much less anything else. Her will turned to regret as she lost even her path. After all she went through, she only had want of a final rest by combat.

The ever-changing mountains were soon to do its routine, every five years the inside would change once more. The metals would restock, the passages would change, and the strongest monsters within would awaken, just before the change. Creatures that she wasn’t even a mosquito, no, not even a fly to.

Legend said that those caught inside as it happened would be crushed finer than powder by the moving caverns, while others said that they would become a monster themselves. It was likely both were true, as are numerous other ones. Within the caves, the unknown became known. No one came near the change, not even the strongest. Nothing was worth it.

It was the perfect place to end it all.

And yet, that was not what would happen.

It was blurry at that point for him. All he knew was that she somehow ended up at a familiar stone table. The words were otherworldly, and yet she could somehow understand them. They were like the writings on the ancient artifacts and flags of her clan. She could only put a rough decipher on it.

She chuckled.

At the end of her rope, just after she said she had enough, did the opportunity arise. It told her to present a true leap of faith to gain power that was not hers. For her to grasp the potential she wanted, for her to protect whomever she loved, she did not care.

With a laugh, Rairakku fell on her own blade over the stone.